


Weiß

by Bronx



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, Cocaine, Coma, Drug Use, Human Trafficking, Read and you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronx/pseuds/Bronx
Summary: They say ‘Always expect the unexpected’, and Till sure tried, but there we’re some things one couldn’t prepare for.(trying to update this once a week)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 37





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this beast of a story! You're in for a ride my friend.   
> This story is written in such a manner that you can mostly imagine the guys from whatever era you'd prefer, even though I imagine it taking place right around now. I also spent some time writing out dates on all the chapters, noting when they take place, trying to create a sense of order in the mess, along with creating a feeling of the time actually passing. Either way, no more of my rambling for this time! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

They say ‘Always expect the unexpected’, and  Till sure tried, but there we’re some things one couldn’t prepare for.

At the time, Richard had been missing for two years, almost to the date. It was just starting to turn cold outside, autumn taking over after summer. Till had been on his way out, for what, he couldn’t remember now. Because, on his porch, a small curled up figure had been sitting, clad in a pair of shabby sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, shivering. 

And that’s where he was now, crouching down in front of the person, a deep crease of worry in his forehead. Till gently put a large hand on the others arm, causing them to flinch. It took a while for  Till to place the features of the face he was looking at – the short blonde hair, the scar-riddled face and cracked lips – but then it all came to him, with the force of a boxer's punch.  _ That’s his best friend.  _

With what felt like a needle in his heart, along with a little bit of adrenaline,  Till carefully picked up  Reesh from his porch. The smaller man, now looking more like a skeleton than anything, stirred in  Till’s arms, but seemed too fatigued to do anything else. Till even had a hard time understanding if the man in his arms was awake or asleep. Either way, he seemed uneasy. 

Till gently placed Richard on the couch, pulling a blanket over his shivering body. Richard seemed to stir a little bit more, his bony hands gripping a hold of it and pulling it tighter around himself. He was still incredibly quiet, and his eyes were still closed. Holding the blanket with one hand now, he leaned back towards the backrest and seemed to feel the couch. 

‘’Richard?’’ 

Hearing his own name had him freezing, and sitting as still as a statue as he seemed to process both the voice and the name. No one had called him that in a _long_ time.    
He turned his head towards the voice, his eyes still downcast. 

‘’Till...?’’ 

It was nothing more but a coarse whisper, his voice rough with disuse. Till hummed, assuring his friend that he was, in fact, here. Shakily, Richard slid off the couch, and down to  Till who was currently sitting on the floor, embracing him in a hug. He clung to  Tills shirt like it was his only way of survival, trying to avoid the tears burning in his eyes, but to no avail. He quietly sobbed into  Till’s shoulder, all of his emotions pouring out at once. 

After a while, Richard seemed to calm down, and even though he still wanted to cling to Till, he dared to sit up a bit  straighter , releasing his white-knuckled grip. 

‘’Till... I-’’ 

Richard didn’t finish what he said, but he tried looking up at Till instead. As usual, only blurry colours filled his vision.    
Till, on the other hand, saw something he never wanted to see. Upon meeting his friends eyes, he realized why the other had kept his eyes downcast, and tried to ‘feel’ the couch with his hands earlier.    
The usually vividly blue eyes were now a thin coat of milky white. Richard was blind. 

Tills heart sank like a rock, his compassion for Richard the only thought on his mind. With a shaky hand, he put his hand on Richard’s cheek, his eyes still trained on the guitarists. 

‘’ Reesh ... What happened?’’ 

The smaller man cast his eyes down again. He didn’t like it. Trying to gather his thoughts, he still didn’t know how to tell his friend about all that had happened. It didn’t matter how many times he’d imagined this moment, it just seemed like he couldn’t do it. Still, he felt like he had to try. 

‘’They... They kept us in tiny rooms.’’ he started, swallowing heavily. He was fidgeting with his own nails, an old habit made worse during these years. ‘’They whipped us. Wanted to make us angry. Then...’’ he had to take a break, forcing a few deep breaths to push the anxiety down. Till gently rested his hand on Richards knee, showing  him he was here, no matter what. Richard continued. ‘’Then we fought. Like dogfighting. They had so many people like me there... And people paid to watch it.’’ 

He couldn’t bear talking about it more, falling silent. A skinny hand went through his machine-cut blonde hair, still shaking. Till felt he’d heard enough too, and decided they’d go to the police tomorrow, but for now,  Reesh needed rest. Pulling his friend into a bear-hug,  Till held his shaking body close. Maybe, what he needed most of all was warmth and care. And that, Till knew how to give. 


	2. And so it begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16th of September

**_ Two years earlier _ **

Richard smiled as he put his arms around Till, thanking him for the night out. They were both about to leave the bar they’d spent the last few hours in, and go home. They  shared a brotherly hug, and then went their own ways. 

Richard began walking home, feeling he didn’t want to take a cab tonight. The fresh night air and a walk would be perfect before getting in bed. Besides, he really loved Berlin at night. It came alive in a very different way than during the day. 

Without really thinking about it, the black-haired man lit a cigarette and inhaled, letting the nicotine flow. How oddly perfect this moment was. 

Sadly, it didn’t last for long. Upon getting into the less visited streets at this hour, a black van drove up next to him, screeching to a halt. Two men in hoods jumped out, easily wrestling Richard into the van. Between the surprise and the alcohol he’d consumed earlier, Richard didn’t understand what was going on until the car was already back in motion and he was being pinned to the floor. 

Fear paralyzed him, and rendered him unable to fight the men as they zip tied both his hands and feet.  _ This... Brought back memories he’d pushed deep down in his mind and then locked away.  _ He swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away the best he could.  _ This is  _ **_ not  _ ** _ 1989, Richard. It’s not Stasi.’’  _ He tried breathing deeply, working his best on pushing away the intruding thoughts. 

Then, he didn’t have to think at all anymore, a sharp sting in the back of his neck stealing the focus. He could only guess what was inside the needle, now going in under his skin, but he reckoned it was something to take the edge off. It didn’t take long before his suspicions were confirmed, a familiar warmth spreading in his body. He hated that he knew exactly what it was he’d been given. He’d even done that to himself in the past. Ugh. 

The dose he was given would’ve probably been enough to knock out someone else in his size, but due to Richards  _ history  _ with said substance, it merely made him unable to move. He wondered how he was still so clear in his head, while the body was unable to do anything. But, he had bigger things to worry about. 

Like the fact that they had stopped, and the doors of the van was opened. It looked like they’d parked in an old warehouse, but he couldn’t see that much. It was kind of impossible to look around when you couldn’t move your head. 

It didn’t matter though, as he yet again had other things to think about when the two men hoisted him up by the arms and started dragging him. Out of the van, across the warehouse and down a long set of stairs. The guitarist knew he’d be sore and beaten up by the treatment, but in his drugged-up state, he felt no pain. 

They were well underground when the staircase stopped, and they all continued through the room, to a metal door on the other side of it. By now, Richard was unable to keep the anxiety away. This was just...  _ too much like that time.  _ The thoughts refused to be pushed away this time, and at the same time as he was being dragged past the door and along a dimly lit hallway, he was reliving what happened in 1989. It was impossible not to. 

A single tear escaped the corner of his eye as he was pulled into a room covered in white tiles, a single metal chair in the middle of the room.  _ What the fuck was this? Hell? _

The two men carelessly dumped him in the chair, making sure his still bound hands were behind the backrest. One of the men disappeared behind him, while the other held Richard upright in the chair. Seeming he had no control over his body, sitting on a chair would not really work. 

A whirring sound along with the sound of metal against metal had him flinching, the loud noise a complete surprise. Dread filled Richards chest.  _ Clippers. Please, no... _

But there was nothing he could do. Before long, the tiled floor around him was filled with black hair, the clippers making quick work of removing it from his head. A few bitter tears fell, his memories turning the black hair on the ground to blonde dreads, the events far too similar. He’d give anything to get out of here.  _ He didn’t want this. _

After the haircut, Richard was stripped to the skin and given an ice fucking cold shower. After being carelessly dried off, they put on a black pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the same colour on him. As the finishing touch, a black nylon band was locked around his neck, yellow numbers on it telling everyone his new identity. Number 613. 


	3. Unwanted Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23rd of September

There are some things in life you never think you’ll have to fear – let alone come into contact with. Being trapped where he was, Richard had found one of those things. The cattle prod. He’d only been in this place for a few days, but he was already oh so familiar with the electric device. It was ironically fitting though. They were all treated like cattle either way. 

Yes, there were more like him at this place. He’d been led down the hallway once since he came here, and it was looking like a jail. But then again, he doubted he’d be number 613 if he was the first, or the only one. He was nothing more than a tiny part of this seemingly huge organisation. 

‘’Get up.’’ 

Richard was ripped from his thoughts, and even though he deep down wanted to tell the guy now standing in his doorway to fuck off, he wasn’t keen on getting more burn marks from the prod. One of the guards at this place had even pressed the prod into Richard’s back to the point where the skin had given way and the electricity burrowed its way into his flesh. Luckily, it wasn’t the same guy standing at the door. 

So, wanting to avoid any of that, he quickly stood up, even though the tiredness in his body was prominent. They weren’t starved per se, but the food was nothing to get excited about. But he was definitely starting to feel how it wasn’t enough. Richard usually ate twice the amount of what he got here. 

The man then grabbed Richard by the shoulder, the insurance his prisoner wouldn’t act up right in his hand, and walked him down the corridor. But this time, it was not in the usual direction – instead he was led down a different path. They passed only a few cells this time, the majority of them seemingly in the other direction, but he didn’t have much time to think about it as he was soon shoved into another room. 

The new room was covered in white tiles, much like the shower room (which he saw a bit too rarely for his own liking), but this room was smaller, and had a metal table along one of the walls. There were a few different things on it and on the wall above it, but mostly medical stuff from what Richard could tell. There was a noise sounding like it came from beyond the room, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. 

‘’Now listen up, fucking idiot.’’ 

Richard looked up, seeing another man in front of him. He’d completely missed him. He was tall, taller than Richard, and stood before the guitarist with a piercing stare and hands behind his back. It wouldn’t surprise Richard if the guy had military training. He was ripped back to reality when the man started talking again.

‘’At no cost will you kill the other, nor give it injuries that could lead to that. Other than that, it’s open. Do you understand?’’ 

Richard didn’t process the words at first.  _ Kill? What was this place?  _ But the man that had led him here smacked the back of Richards head, making him hastily nod, even though he sure as hell didn’t understand at all. 

The military-guy then stepped aside, revealing a metal door behind him, and opened it for Richard and the man behind him. The faint noise the guitarist had heard earlier was amplified by thousands it felt like, now it was easy to identify it though, even though it was deafening. It was definitely a large crowd cheering on for something. 

If Richard wasn’t uneasy before, he sure was now. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be one of the audience. 

His fears were confirmed when the man behind him led him down a dark corridor, and then pushed him out into a caged fighting ring.  _ Oh fuck, Oh fuck, Oh fuck...!  _ This was bad. 

On the other side of the ring, another man was pushed out into the light, and upon that, the crowd seemed to go wild. So, they were supposed to fight? At least it wouldn’t be to the death but... That other guy looked like he’d done this a few times. 

Adrenaline was pumping fast into Richard’s body, preparing himself for this shit. He wasn’t weak by any means, but it had been a long time since he’d ever fought anyone. As shitty as The DDR had been, he was kind of happy now he’d been doing some wrestling back then. 

Then, there was no more time to think, because the guy across the ring was suddenly charging towards Richard, and he had to think quick if he was going to get away. At the last second, he managed to jump to the side as the guy came close, managing to confuse him. Richard saw his chance, and from his position to the side of his opponent, the guitarist charged into the other instead. 

They both came tumbling to the ground in a mess, Richard relieved to find himself on top. Though, that moment of thought he granted himself caused the other to take the opportunity to flip them over, and it didn’t take long before Richard found a fist connecting to his face. 

_ Okay, no time for thinking, Richard. Just do whatever feels right.  _

Now going on impulse more than anything, he put his feet against the others stomach and pressed the other away enough so that he himself could roll away. Only a moment later the others fist came crashing down again where his head had been. 

Quickly getting on his feet, Richard then managed to direct a kick towards the other. He landed it straight in the ribs of the other, unfortunately bringing himself as much pain as he gave. Kicking without boots was a bad idea. It didn’t even seem to faze his opponent, who got up and flung himself at Richard with even more force now. Great, he’d managed to piss this guy off, on top of him already being a pretty good fighter. 

They both collided once more, Richard ending up underneath from the start this time. His opponent made sure to lock down Richards legs this time around. He was determined to keep the other pinned. The punches started raining down on Richards face, making him disorientated like never before. He’d been in bar fights before, but this was nothing like it. 

Upon the fifth or sixth punch, Richard managed to grab a hold of the others wrist, stopping him from punching anymore. There was no time to catch his breath, so Richard would just have to wing it from here, and so he tried to turn them over once more. It didn’t go exactly as planned, and they both just ended up in a messy pile. They both fought to overturn the other, relentlessly.

A sharp sting was suddenly filling his senses, his left side hurting like shit. But at the same time the other had lowered his guard for just a moment, and Richard took this opportunity to roll them both over and  straddled his opponent. Managing to get into the position he had wanted, Richard then gave the man under him the same treatment he’d been given a minute ago, raining punches over and over again, until the man stopped struggling. 

Looking down, he concluded that his opponent was unconscious, laying limply on the floor with his face caked in blood. Upon realizing this, Richard finally allowed himself to breathe, now getting up on his feet again. 

Only now did he remember there was a crowd present, and they were going  _ nuts.  _ Several of them were banging on the steel cage, while others were just screaming. They all seemed so angry. A lot of them also seemed to exchange money, and it didn’t surprise Richard. Of course, they were gambling on this type of sport. Illegal blood sport. Disgusting. 

The guys who were in charge declared the match over, and before Richard knew, he was dragged back to the small tiled room where he’d been before the match. The military guy was currently standing by the metal table, seemingly preparing some of the medical supplies. Richard now understood now why a room like this was necessary. 

He was then carelessly dumped on a metal chair, wincing upon the pain shooting through his body at the jarring movement. Still, his left side was worst. He realized that he still didn’t know what caused it, and carefully lifted up his black t-shirt to take a look. What met him under there though wasn’t something he’d expected. His skin was bleeding a bit, but it was no mistaking the perfect imprints of every single tooth the other man had in his mouth. The detail was almost too good, Richard being able to make out the individual teeth in his own flesh. No wonder it was fucking hurting. 

The pain wasn’t really made better when army dude decided it was time to disinfect it, and without caring anything for his patient's pain levels, he just doused it in disinfectant solution. Richard had to clench his teeth together to refrain from just outright screaming. The wound was feeling like it was on fire, and it was emanating out into his entire body.  _ FuckFuckFuckFuckFUCK.  _

Luckily the torment was over soon, and after getting his side patched up and his face tended to, Richard was then led back to his tiny cell. It took a while for him to walk there, every step causing the side to shoot pain into the rest of his body. He was thankful when finally, they arrived at the tiny room he was calling home. He sank down on the thin mattress residing in one of the corners, finding that sitting curled up on it was more comfortable than most other positions. 

Gently, he rested his forehead on his knees, his arms wrapped around his legs. Only now, alone in the silence and the dimmed light of this tiny grey room, did he allow himself to let his tears flow freely.   
_What had he done to deserve to end up in this hell?_


	4. Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27th of September

The sound of stilettoes bounced against the walls as the flawless woman walked down the corridor. She was clad in a dark grey, impeccable suit, the jacket and skirt clearly tailored for her. Her hair was tastefully curled, and currently, she was hiding her eyes behind a pair of dark sunglasses. No matter who you were, she had that type of aura telling you that however much you may try, you would never be superior. 

The woman in stilettoes and suit kept walking down the corridor, focus only on where she was headed. At the end of the corridor, into the office. She got there fast enough due to her long legs, giving the door a firm knock as she reached it. A muffled ‘’Come in’’ could be heard after, and the woman swiftly went inside.

‘’Frau Schneider, welcome. Please sit.’’ 

She shook his hand before sitting down, yet to speak to the man. Frau was coldly waiting for the other to start speaking, because he knew very well why she was here. 

‘’613 is doing well, thanks to your generous sponsorship, Frau. He would not have made it past the first few days without you.’’ 

She nodded sternly, already knowing this. It wasn’t her first sponsorship, and it wouldn’t be her last. Still, a small part of her told her that she was doing this because 613 had been a friend of her relative, but she quickly put that thought away. She didn’t do pity. 

The two spoke for a good while, going over the terms of her continued support and of the subject's treatment. She would continue to make sure he was taken care of. 

Meanwhile, unknowing of what went down just down the hall from him, Richard had just woken up from a fever dream. His pale skin was shining glistening with sweat, and he swallowed dryly. He’d been in this state now for four days, but he wouldn’t have known if someone asked him. He’d been drifting in and out of a restless sleep since the wound in his side got infected, and it was starting to take its toll. He was fairly certain he was being treated though, due to the frequent visits of the doctor. 

Shivering intensely, Richard pulled the blanket closer around him. It was a privilege he’d gained some time during his illness, along with a slightly thicker mattress. It wasn’t much to a regular person, but here, in these conditions, it was like sent from above. 

Then, his focus was shifted as footsteps echoed in the corridor outside of his small cell. He was too weak to stand up and look out of the tiny hatch in the door, so he had to settle for listening. They suddenly stopped, somewhere near his cell, but soon he found out it was outside his door, because in just a few moments, it swung open. 

The usual guard stepped inside, and Richard was expecting the medic to follow, but instead of the grouchy old man, a lady in a grey suit stepped inside. The corridor was much brighter than the cell, and so the light getting in through the open door blinded Richard enough so that he couldn’t make out any other features on the two persons in front of him. 

He tried raising himself on his elbows, but found his strength had abandoned him, letting the fever take its place. It fucking sucked. He valued his independency a lot, and this was getting to him. 

In the end he just managed to turn himself on the side, it was the best he could do to see his visitors. Usually he didn’t care, but something about the lady’s aura demanded his attention. He couldn’t help but to give it to her. 

Then, the guard left by a wave of her hand, and then the lady elegantly lowered herself to his height. Richard didn’t have time to think about it until she firmly grabbed his stubbly jaw and made him look her straight in the eye. She was beautiful, he concluded now that he could see her better. Her pale blue eyes bore straight into him as their eyes met, and even if he would’ve been physically able to look away, he sure as hell was trapped mentally. She silently demanded it. 

‘’Now, you listen up, 613. Or, should I say,  _ Richard.’’  _

Richard was already freezing, but the cold chill that went down his spine then wasn’t of the same kind.  _ She knew who he was.  _ He felt more scared of this woman than any of the guards at this place. 

‘’Listen carefully. I have a fair amount of influence in this place. Had it not been for my sponsorship, this little infection of yours would’ve been a lot worse. Possibly lethal.’’ 

Her hand held his cheek harder, perfectly manicured nails digging into his skin. He winced, but she paid it no mind. She continued. 

‘’I have already given you this. See it as a gift for winning your first fight. If you continue like that, I am prepared to give you more privileges. But if you don’t...  _ Or worse, you do not obey me –  _ there will be consequences. Understood?’’ 

Richard swallowed dryly, even more terrified of this woman than when she came in. Sure, she saved him, but at what cost? Was he so indebted to her now she considered him her  _ slave?  _ It sure felt like it. 

She cleared her throat as to remind him that he hadn’t answered her yet, and he mustered up what energy he could to nod. The rough grip on his face disappeared immediately, and before he could even register it, the woman had gotten up and left the cell, the metallic banging of the cell door closing making it all sink in. Not only was he trapped here, now he couldn’t lose his fights, due to fear of this  _ punishment _ she had spoken of. Fuck. 


	5. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30th of September

The whip hit Richard’s back once more, and there was nothing else he could do but to keep his head down and grit his teeth. He had been warned, and Frau stood true to her word.  _ Disobey me – there will be consequences.  _

Another strike from the whip. He was already bleeding, but they were relentless. They’d  zip tied his hands and kneeled him down on the floor of his cell. One of the guards carrying out the punishment while Frau was watching. Richard felt her ice-cold stare on him, even though she was standing behind him. 

He couldn’t help but flinch as the whip came down on him again. The broken syringe lay just before him, every time he opened his eyes, he saw the reason for his punishment. Still, he’d promised  Till that he’d never touch that shit again. He couldn’t for the life of him break that promise. 

The whip cracked over Richard’s back one last time before the Frau deemed the punishment to have hit home. She looked at the quivering man on the floor with distaste. He’d gotten what he deserved, she thought, but once more having to push away a hint of pity inside her mind. She didn’t care for him, really. At least that’s what she told herself time and time again. 

With a flawless hand, she waved at the guard to leave the room, allowing her some time with her subject, alone. The latter was still curled up in the same position on the floor, shaking like an aspen leaf. Maybe she had been cruel to start with this so soon after he got better, but it was necessary. Furthermore, the doctor had deemed him healthy enough for what Frau had in mind. 

When thinking about her plans, the red-hot anger bloomed inside her again, the recent memory of Richards defiance fresh in her memory. She wanted to give him an advantage, and he had shoved it ungratefully right back in her face. He’d deserved every lash he had been given. 

‘’Get up, you  _ ungrateful bastard.’’  _

It took the shaking man a moment to register what she’d said, but then he did as he’d been told, albeit slowly. The pain was overwhelming. As soon as he got up, Richard saw that Frau was now standing in front of him, the anger in her icy blue eyes prominent. 

‘’Give me your arm.’’ 

Richard let out a shuddering sigh. What was he supposed to do? He’d refused to obey this exact command only thirty minutes ago, and he knew very well what that lead to now. Still, he was terrified of what lay before him. Was he just supposed to let this woman push him straight back into the hell of addiction he’d fought so hard to climb out of? It seemed so, for he had no other choice. 

With no other way out, he reached his left arm out to The Frau, giving her full access to his veins on the inside of his arm. She took it in one hand, holding the syringe in her other, at the same time giving a pleased hum at his compliance – almost the type of sound you’d make to a dog for being good. Richard felt sick. 

That feeling only increased as he felt the needle finding its way into his arm, and he looked away. He didn’t need to see that. It was enough knowing what was going into his veins. 

It happened so fast after that. The needle was pulled, and the zip ties around his hands were cut, and soon thereafter he was being pushed down the hallway, only to end up in the same tiled room like before. Was he... supposed to  _ fight like this?  _

Then, the familiar sensation of cocaine crashed upon him, worse than he’d ever felt before. The shaking got worse, his pulse heightened, and everything was so...  _ much.  _

He knew he had no choice now, and so he let himself be led into the fighting ring, even though he felt like a complete mess. Like he was drained, but the substance in his veins kept pushing at him. 

He remembers stepping out in to the ring and then... nothing. Richard has no memory of what happened next. 

~

Meanwhile across Berlin, in a small bar,  Till knocked back his fifth drink of the evening. The guilt had been eating at him for the past two weeks, since the night his friend disappeared. He felt like he was responsible for Richard not making it home, and it was definitely starting to show. 

He’d even asked his friend if he wanted to walk home together, or if  Till could arrange a ride for him. The guitarist had declined, as always – Richard really liked walking home after nights out – but  Till couldn’t shake the feeling that he should’ve done something. 

‘’Come on Till. Let’s go home, you’ve had enough for tonight.’’ 

The singer merely huffed reluctantly, but in the end did go with his friend now leading him out of the bar. The shorter guitarist walked behind Till, a steady hand on his shoulder. Paul sighed. He’d been dragging his friend out of this bar more often than not the last two weeks,  Till blaming himself. It was such a  Till thing to do, but it was still driving the shorter man insane. There was nothing he could’ve done to prevent this shit. 

Sharing a silent ride home,  Till seemed more fidgety than usual. He was constantly checking his phone, and changing in his seat. They may have been friends for what felt like half an eternity, but Paul honestly couldn’t tell if this behaviour was because of the alcohol or something else. 

Till suddenly frowned, his hand in pocket as he was about to pick his phone up once more, but when his hand left the pocket, he held something else in his hand. A polaroid? Paul couldn’t really see since he had to focus on driving, but upon a sharp inhale from Till, along with a face of pure horror, Paul felt it was definitely time to pull over and stop the car. 

The photo  shook them both to the core. With the simple words  _ R is fine, don’t look for him  _ written on the back, the front then depicted two men, one obviously strangling the other. 

‘’Holy shit...’’ 


	6. Withdrawal & Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter takes place on two dates this time around, 30th of September, and 1st of October

The photo stared  at the two friends  where it lay on the kitchen table, the light in the ceiling making it shine slightly . 

After Till had found it in his own pocket and  both he and Paul had panicked over it, they decided to go to Paul’s place and discuss it there. Just sitting in the car felt to exposed. 

And so here they were, staring at it and having the eerie feeling of it staring back at them.  The motif on it was as chilling as the circumstances of finding it , along with the message on the back. It lied to them. Richard was so clearly  _ not  _ doing fine,  strangling the other man in the picture. 

Till didn’t want to upset Paul, so he kept one thought to himself, but it was gnawing at him.  That look that Richard had on the picture...  It looked too much like what his friend had worked so hard to rid himself of had once more invaded his bloodstream . The signs were small, but Till would recognize them from a mile away. He’d seen  his friend like that far too many times, and a thing like that didn’t leave his mind all that easily. 

“Till.” Paul started. “We can’t show this to anyone. Not even the cops.” 

Till nodded and sighed, rubbing his face with  both hands. He had sobered up real fucking quick , even if he wasn’t too drunk to begin with. At least if you asked Till himself. Paul would probably have another  view of things. 

Still, Paul had a point about who they would show the photo to. The police was definitely ruled out, the last thing they needed was for suspicions to turn onto Richard instead,  he needed help – not to be at the other end of the spectrum. 

Still, they couldn’t help but wonder. Where was he? And what the fuck had he ended up in the middle of? It sure didn’t look good. 

~~

Things started to clear slightly for Richard as the hefty dose of cocaine in his bloodstream slowly sank. He groaned at the sensation; it was something he’d rather be without. He started thinking of things he’d rather experience than withdrawal, but in the end, it just made him depressed. 

Pushing the intrusive thoughts aside, Richard then opened his eyes, being met with the grey dull wall of his cell. He figured out that he was currently laying on his mattress, facing the wall. Well, things couldn’t be too bad then... he hoped. 

His back was still stinging from the whipping he’d gotten earlier, but  it also felt like someone was touching it repeatedly, causing it to sting worse. 

Trying not to move the  hurting skin on his back, he glanced over his shoulder – finding none other than Frau. 

He groaned quietly. Then it couldn’t be good. Only now did it strike Richard that he had absolutely no memory of the last fight. What had happened? Did he win? He furrowed his brow, thinking back to the days where he did the drugs willingly. Till had had to pull him out of countless bar fights, the guitarist entering fight mode whenever he wasn’t sober. 

Now, Richard feared he’d fucked something up. What if he did something he wasn’t allowed to? Was she here to punish him? He feared the worst. 

‘’You’re awake.’’ 

Frau spoke from behind him, seemingly touching an extra sensitive area, making Richard flinch. She sounded neutral as she spoke.  _ Too neutral _ the guitarist thought, fearing what was behind it all. 

‘’W-what happened?’’ 

His voice was raspy, a cause of his incredibly dry throat. He couldn’t help but to curse himself over the slight tremble in his voice – he genuinely hated it. Frau kept touching his back with something, not showing a single emotion. 

Deep inside, she was both angry and proud. Her subject had won the match, incredibly easily, but then again, she’d had to save his ass afterwards. The owners of the organization didn’t take kindly to their matches leading to death. Frau honestly didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t her subjects at the lethal end. She knew the organization could easily find new fighters. Only thing she did care about now was that there was a huge hole in her wallet. Escaping death didn’t come cheap.

‘’You won. But you also strangled your opponent to death.’’ 

Richard turned around and sat up straight, his face deathly pale and eyes filled with shock.  _ No... How could it be? He actually killed someone? _ A cold shudder went down his spine. He didn’t want it to be true, yet the look on Frau’s face told him she wasn’t lying. He felt incredibly sick, almost like he wanted to throw up. Not that he had anything  _ to  _ throw up either way. 

‘’W-what happens n-now?’’ 

Richard feared for the worst. He’d been told before his first fight that he couldn’t cause death, or there would be consequences... Would they come now? He felt his own body shake, but he couldn’t determine if it was due to withdrawal or pure fucking fear. Still, the look on Frau’s face divulged absolutely nothing. 

‘’What happens? I adjust your dose. Now turn around, I need to clean out the wounds on your back.’’ 

The guitarist couldn’t believe his ears. He’d expected the very worst, and getting off the hook with  _ absolutely nothing  _ as punishment just seemed too good to be true.  But afraid as he was, Richard obeyed and turned around so that Frau could continue what she was doing. 

Richard still had a distinct feeling this wasn’t the end of things. 


	7. Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4th of October

The cracking of bones made Richard wince, but not in pain. Well... Not in pain  _ for himself.  _ In pain for the man on the floor in front of him, currently curling in on himself, hoping to protect his body, but to no avail. One of the guards quickly gave him a taste of the cattle prod, as to which the poor man shakily extended his body again, only to have it meet the rough end of another guard's boot. It landed on the already broken bone, now snapping it even more – to the point where it wasn’t aligned with the rest of the leg anymore. The lower leg was lying in a ninety-degree angle, and it was sending shivers down Richards spine. He was forced to watch this. 

The guitarist was standing in one corner, his hands cuffed behind his back, and a guard standing close to him with a cattle prod in hand. This... Was supposed to be both revenge and punishment for Richard – but he felt like he’d rather have done without. The man on the floor had been his first opponent when he came here, and also the man who’d bitten out a chunk of Richard’s own flesh. In all honesty, Richard wouldn’t have recognized the man had it not been for the black collar with yellow numbers. Number 566. 

The warning hadn’t been completely false then. Cause death or something that could lead to it, get punished. The man had caused what almost turned into sepsis for Richard, so he could see why he was being punished, but he just wished he didn’t have to watch it. It made him feel sick above all else, along with the horror of the thought that he himself might be next. 

The guard kept stomping on the poor man's legs, now having moved over to the unharmed one. Well, it wouldn’t stay that way for long. After several hard stomps, and a few loud cracks accompanied by the agonized wailing of the man, the leg visibly broke and was left in a very awkward angle, matching up his other one. 

Still, that didn’t seem enough, because the guard was now stomping on his poor victims' upper leg, giving it the same treatment. Before long, both his legs were broken in several places, and now angled to the point of creating a gruesome display. The guy was crying and breathing shakily, almost to the point of hyperventilating. 

Then, as apparently breaking both legs wasn’t enough, the guard took to stomping on the guy's jaw. Richard wanted  _ so desperately  _ to look away from the scene, but he didn’t dare to. He’d been told not to look away, so what else could he do?

‘’This is what you get for biting, you fucking idiot.’’ the guard growled.

The jaw seemed to be completely  _ crushed  _ the boot in no time, the man’s screaming becoming unintelligible with the loss of it. There was now a steady pool of blood growing around the victim, both around his legs from where the bones had gone through the skin, but also around the jaw, where the same thing had happened. Richard wondered how this man would ever regain function enough to live with this kind of damage done to him, but that question was pushed away quickly, when one of the guards handed a rope to the one in charge. 

With the skinny, blue nylon rope rolled around his hands, he then kneeled down – pushing a knee into the man’s back, and with absolutely no remorse on his face, looped the rope around his neck and pulled. 

His victim tried frantically clawing at the rope to get away from the thing stealing his precious oxygen – but to no avail. His face grew more and more pallid, and after a couple minutes, the flailing stopped and his eyes rolled back. 

The guitarist currently standing in the corner of the room had to focus on breathing now, if he didn’t, he’d just stop entirely due to the shock and horror spiralling within him.  _ The guy was dead.  _ Richard had to try his very, very best not to slip into a panic attack, but at the same time he couldn’t stop staring at the  _ fucking corpse laying three meters away from him. He himself had done that to someone only yesterday. Was he next? _

+++ 

Paul groaned at his phone going off, and upon opening his eyes, he found that it was still pretty much dark outside.  _ Who the fuck calls at this hour?  _ Picking up the phone, he checked the time before answering. Seven thirty. At that moment, Paul was incredibly happy he didn’t have a regular job. Night owl and rock star suited him a lot better. 

He swiped the green call symbol on his screen and put the phone to his ear. Too tired to answer with something properly, he just said something, probably his name, but he was too tired to remember. 

‘’Yes, hi. I’m calling from the police. In our database it says you’re the contact regarding Mr.  Kruspe . Is that correct?’’ 

Paul was suddenly wide awake, sitting up straight in his bed. Had they found anything? He quickly confirmed that he was indeed the contact, praying silently in his head that it was good news. 

‘’Well, I’m very sorry to bother you Mr. Landers, but we would need your assistance, identifying a body.’’ 

Paul’s heart sank as fast as it had jumped up, anxiety struck him like a sledgehammer.  _ Identifying a body...? Was Richard dead?  _

He barely remembered the rest of the conversation, but somehow, he managed to set an appointment in an hour. 

Paul thought briefly about calling Till, or any of the others, but decided against it. Till was already beating himself up enough over all this, he didn’t need to go through this as well. As for the others... he chewed his lip, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe, it would just be best if he went alone. 

Well, there was no use trying to go back to sleep now. Pauls heart was beating like crazy, and the anxiety was feeling like a wild bucking horse in his chest. He had to focus on breathing for a while, sitting on the edge of his bed and feeling like the floor was swinging back and forth, like waves on a sea. 

It took a good ten minutes before the musician felt like he could up and stand. He had to focus on getting ready, the process he did every day now seemingly ten times more difficult. His mind was cooking up pictures of his friend in the morgue, laying on a cold steel table...  _ Gone.  _

He shook his head physically to get the images to leave his head, if only for a moment. It didn’t work. The image seemed to be etched into the inside of his head, following him all the way in the car to the police station, and still when he stood by the front desk. 

Luckily, he was snapped out of it when the receptionist started taking his details, and before he’d even had time to sit down in the waiting room, a young woman in scrubs was leading him further into the bowels of this godforsaken place. 

Paul swallowed dryly when they entered one of the rooms, nervous beyond measure. What would he do if it _was_ Richard?    
The woman walked further into the room, standing beside the table in the middle, the eerie outline of a body already on the table, covered with a sheet. She seemed to sense how tense the man beside her was, and when he stopped beside her she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘’It’s alright. We just need to know if you recognize the man. Can you do that?’’

Her voice was soft. Paul would’ve liked it had he not been in this situation. He nodded slightly though, wanting this over and done with – dragging the wait out was just making everything worse. 

At his confirmation, the woman gently grabbed the ends of the sheet and pulled it back. Upon seeing a mess of black hair, Pauls breath hitched – but as the sheet revealed the man's face, the guitarist felt like he could cry from relief. The body lying on the table was most definitely not his friend. 

The woman gave him another look, and she too seemed to relax a tad at seeing the relief on Paul’s face. 

‘’Mr. Landers. Are you familiar with this man?’’ 

Paul shook his head. He realized only now, after looking at the face of the corpse for a while, that it was pretty badly damaged. The entire lower jaw seemed crushed, and it hung limply to one side, the skin seemingly all that kept it in place.    
Right below it, on the man's neck, a black nylon collar with yellow numbers. 566. It felt weird. Was he numbered for a reason?

‘’No. I’ve never seen him in my life. Are they connected somehow?’’ 

Paul raised his head to look at the woman again, a deep furrow in his brow. 

‘’Well... We have managed to get several samples of blood from the clothes of this victim. One of them matched with the sample you gave us of your friends' DNA.’’ 

Paul felt the anxiety return, and his face pale once more.  _ They’d found Richard’s blood on this man’s clothes? Oh god.  _


	8. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20th of December. A small jump! :)

_ Thump _ _.  _ _ Thump _ _.  _ _ Thump _ _.  _

His forehead kept meeting the wall. Not hard enough to cause any damage, more like an animal in a cage would behave. Richard just couldn’t find it in himself to cry right now, so this was the next best thing. Somehow. 

He was sitting on the mattress in the corner of his grey room, wishing he wasn’t stuck here. Today of all days it was worse than most others, but he’d brought it on himself. He’d really wanted to know, but now that he did, he regretted asking Frau about it. The date. 

_ 20th of December.  _

Three months and four days since he went out with Till, only to never return home. He’d been stuck here for three goddamn months. It was almost Christmas time. Which made him think of his friends back home. And that led here. Trying to physically get the feelings out of his head before they drove him insane. 

Still, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, and he wondered what his friends were doing right now. Were they still looking for him? He hoped not. He did hope that they would keep playing without him though. 

_ Truth is, they tried.  _

Currently, on the other side of Berlin, the group were sitting their rehearsing room, the mood incredibly low. This was the third day in a row that the five of them had tried getting this band back together, but no one’s heart was truly in it. Besides, it just sounded  _ wrong.  _ How were they supposed to play with Richard missing? 

On top of the whole dynamic sounding incredibly off, all the guys were just distracted. Paul kept missing chords constantly whenever he looked up and found that there was no one there to keep up with him, all he was met by being the tan and red guitar standing in the corner and collecting dust. A brief moment Paul was shocked, before remembering what went down three months ago. The next knot in Pauls stomach was the actual dust. The guitars owner would never let it slip like that, and the thick layer of  grey was just more solid proof of him actually being gone. 

Paul wasn’t the only one suffering from this,  Till kept forgetting his lines due to the stress and his current decline in mental health, and Schneider was somehow, for what seemed the first time in his life, not keeping the rhythm. Oli and Flake kept this better together somehow, but even they were affected by the situation and the current depression laying over them like a fog. 

They’d all tried to keep up the façade for these past  _ three days  _ before Oli spoke up, telling them all that it wasn’t working. Everyone had thought the exact same thing, but didn’t want to say anything. Yet, everyone felt relieved when the bubble was burst by their bassist. 

‘’Look, this isn’t working. We all feel like shit, some of us look half dead and others look like they’re mentally somewhere else. It won’t do anyone good keeping this up. Let’s just put it on ice. Okay?’’ 

They all had nodded, Oli was right. Then, they’d all basically crashed in the couches at the other end of the rehearsal room, either of them too tired to say anything, but neither wanting to go home. 

Flake caught himself missing the man smoking indoors, which was something he usually wanted to kick his ass over, because it would make the whole house stink and then they’d have to open the windows, which meant the whole rehearsal space would be cold as fuck. He even missed that. The keyboardist would’ve taken that any day over this mess. 

Paul suddenly stood up, seemingly distraught. He pulled a hand through the messy hair before putting on the beanie he’d been wearing earlier, but then kept hanging out of his back pocket. 

‘’I- I can’t  _ fucking do this.  _ I think he’s dead. We won’t fucking see him ever again.’’ 

As sudden as he’d broken, Paul then stormed out of the building, leaving the other four looking at each other with wide eyes. Where had that come from? Oli shot up from the couch and followed Paul, worried about what his bandmate was going through. 

The short guitarist was sitting on the bench outside their building, smoking and looking like he was a millimetre from bawling his eyes out. Oli sat down next to him, a gentle hand on the  man's shoulder. 

‘’Want to talk about that?’’ he asked, hoping that his friend just wouldn’t clam up and refuse to say anything. They were all going through this together, even though sometimes it didn’t feel like it. Oli guessed that Paul was keeping too much to himself, and carrying the extra weight of this something was eating him up from the inside. 

He nodded, but didn’t say anything at first. He continued smoking, which was a pretty rare sight, but then Oli saw that they were in fact, Richard’s cigarettes, and it made a little more sense. He briefly thought that Richard would smack Paul for taking his stuff, but it was shoved away by a darker thought. What if Paul was right? Then there would be no one to get annoyed over it. The thought was horrifying. 

When the cigarette was done and put out under the guitarists shoe, did he start talking. It was unsure at first, trying to find words and describe what on earth had went down, but by the end it was just pouring out of him, the shorter man crying like there was no tomorrow. All Oli could do was pull Paul close and hold him, let him let it out. 

Pulling Till out of excessive drinking for the first month, the picture, the fucking mangled corpse in the morgue... 

Of course, it had become too much for Paul. He was indeed carrying the weight of it all and thought that it was the way it had to. Oli had to assure him time and time again that it would be alright, they’d get through all this together. 

‘’But what if it  _ won’t be okay?’’  _ Paul looked up at Oli with red eyes, wishing for all to be like he said but unable to. 

‘’It will be okay. I promise.’’ 


	9. Dual Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17th of March, another small jump ^^

Paul didn’t know if it was possible to run out of tears, but after half a year of what felt like constant crying, he really didn’t have anything to spare anymore. His entire being felt completely empty, like he was merely a brittle shell, threatening to break at any moment. Some days he honestly hoped that he’d break, and be free of this bloody nightmare, which seemed to never end. He tried every day to replay  Oli’s words in his mind, repeating them aloud with him, but no success. Things were not going to be okay. 

The empty casket in front of him screamed it.  _ He’s dead, and he’s never coming back now.  _

Still, Paul couldn’t let out a single tear where he sat, at the front of the church, squeezed in between Oliver and Schneider. All he could do was stare at the sleek black casket, mourning that he wouldn’t actually get to bury his friend properly. Instead, Paul’s mind painted vivid pictures of where his friends' body was now. Rotting at the bottom of Spree seemed to be the one sticking to his mind the most, even though he detested the image. Paul had tried several times to think of happy moments instead, but it seemed impossible. The bad always came back and took over. 

Richard had been pronounced dead a month earlier, almost on the date since he disappeared. It had been chaotic. Till had disappeared out to his cabin in the woods, only assuring the others that he was still alive with a text every so often. Paul had stayed in bed for one entire week, only leaving it momentarily to eat or use the bathroom. Schneider had stayed locked up in his apartment, staying constantly drunk for several days, only interrupted every once in a while, by  Oli joining him. Flake had been the mother hen, going around to all their apartments and trying to care for them, along with cleaning all of their houses and apartments, saying they couldn’t live like that. Everyone knew though that he needed to keep his hands busy to not fall into the pit that the others had fallen into. It was a straight fucking mess. 

None of that was visible now though, when they sat in the pews of the tiny church, everyone had seemingly sobered up for the occasion.

Paul could hear in his head the voice of Richard, how he’d laugh over their miserable looks and tell them to  _ cheer the fuck up _ , and then he’d probably insist they went out to party like there was no tomorrow. Little did he know though that his friend was very much alive still, and was currently being dragged out of a fighting ring. 

Richard was wincing, being pulled backwards by his arms out into the medical room, his left leg dangling in a nasty angle. He’d won the match, easily, but his opponent had put up a proper fight. More than most of them did, anyway, which resulted in his upper leg breaking with an audible crack. The audience had been ecstatic, roaring when they’d watched the leg snap and heard the guitarist roar in pain. At the time it had only served to make him angrier, and with that extra force he’d caved the man’s nose in, leading to the man passing out. But, now that the fury had subsided, along with the cocaine, Richard’s entire leg was pounding with pain, making him want to scream until his lungs gave out. Still, he kept quiet, fearing what they’d do to him if he was making too much noise. He doubted it would be anything pleasant. 

The trio reached the medical room, the two men who’d pulled him dumping him unceremoniously on the floor, making his broken leg move. Richard had to bite his tongue to refrain from screaming out loud. He was left lying on the floor for almost an hour, waiting for someone with more experience to arrive, judging from the phone call the guy had made. 

It was an agonizing wait, the leg throbbing constantly and the break making pain radiate out into his entire body. Even breathing seemed to jostle the break into sending electric jolts of pain into the rest of his battered and bruised body. Richard couldn’t help but to close his eyes and try to imagine he was somewhere else. 

His mind wandered to his friends. It was easy to see how they were all in the studio, playing together and goofing around. Richard imagined Paul somehow pranking Flake while still hitting every single note on his guitar, that stupid grin plastered on his face, all while Schneider throwing a drum stick at the guitarist to make him focus on what he should – but all in good will. Richard missed that, and hoped that that was how their reality looked right now, even though he weren’t there to see it. If only he knew that his own funeral had just took place and that all of his friends were getting drunk in different places, trying to handle their mourning without success. 

Paul was currently sitting on the edge of Richards bed, visiting the apartment for the first time in half a year. His entire chest was aching with sorrow and mourning, but he still couldn’t for the life of himself cry. In his hands were several photos he’d just found in his friend's home. Some of them were old enough to date back to when they’d started  Rammstein , neither of them ever imagining they’d go this far. Then, some of the photos were more recent, but all of them had in common the people on the pictures. Paul really wanted to smile when he saw those happy memories, but he felt like he was completely lacking emotion still. No more than a shell. 

Upon realizing that, the photos just made him sick. He couldn’t be happy over all good that had been, because he was never seeing his friend again. It was all gone. Gone and buried. 

With a lump in his throat, he stood up and went back to the dresser where he’d found the pictures in the first place, about to dump them back into the drawer before something caught his eye.  _ A small bag of white powder. Oh no. Fuck.  _ Paul thought he knew that the guitarist had been clean for the last several years. It had been pure hell when they recorded Mutter, but Paul genuinely thought that Richard had been clean after that. Everything pointed at that as well, because he’d been so much better off after quitting, both mentally and physically. Was it possible that his friend had been clean but forgot to get rid of the rest? It’s possible. Not that it really mattered now. 

Another pang of sorrow exploded in Pauls chest, and he just wished it would go away. All he wanted was his friend back. Then all would be okay. He just wanted to be happy so badly... Six months of constant depression was starting to get to him. He stared at the small bag in his hand.  _ Maybe...  _


	10. Fear and Stupid Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18th of March

‘’I  knew you were stupid,  but not  _ this _ __ stupid.’’ 

Flake didn’t raise his voice too often, but today was one of those rare occasions, Paul found. He knew exactly what the problem was, and why the man was fuming – which was very much justified – but Paul just couldn’t find it in him to care. This last week had been a lot better actually, and the guitarist really wanted to hang on to that, consequences not even considered. 

He wiped his arm under his own nose, his top lip seemed to be constantly itching these days. Maybe that was to be expected though. Still, Paul winced when he saw the tiny amount of blood on his wrist, realizing he was having a nose bleed,  _ again. _

‘’I don’t know what you’re trying to  achieve here Paul, so please, enlighten me. Why would you shove that shit up your nose?’’ 

Flake stood in front of Paul where he sat on the edge of his bed, his slender hands on his hips, reminding the guitarist of a really angry mom. It would’ve been pretty funny, had the situation not been what it was. Paul sniffled a little bit, the blood running down the inside of his nose making him want to sneeze. 

‘’Calm down Flake. I just needed to feel good for once.’’

The keyboardist merely snorted, finding the argument laughable. Sure, they’d all been through tough times, but that didn’t justify  _ shoving cocaine up your nose.  _

_ ‘’ _ It’s okay, I’ve got it under control.’’ Paul continued, wiping his nose again, more blood ending up on his arm. Truth was though, that Paul was slowly losing the control. He’d been almost constantly high for the last week, chasing that happiness that seemed so far away when sober. He was tired of the constant depression and sorrow, and the powder helped with that better than anything else. Paul kept repeating to himself that he could quit whenever he wanted, but he knew deep down that it was slipping out of his grasp. 

‘’That’s exactly what Richard said to me before  _ having a bloody heart attack the following day.’’  _ Flake growled, crossing his arms in an attempt to not back hand his friend over the sheer stupidity coming out of his mouth. It was impossible for the keyboardist to forget the panicked car ride to the hospital with a very pale Richard in the passenger seat. It hadn’t been  _ too horrible,  _ but enough to warrant a ride to the ER, which in the end had caused the guitarist to quit the drugs cold turkey. 

Paul furrowed his brow, looking up at Flake. He hadn’t heard about Richard having a heart attack, so he was considering that Flake was telling him that to deter him from the coke. Still, it might have been possible... He’d have to ask Rich-  _ Shit.  _

Flake watched Pauls facial expression go from confused to stone cold, and he watched as his friend stood up, all compassion in his eyes gone. ‘’You need to leave Flake. Now.’’ It was a cold tone, proving to the keyboardist that it was indeed time to leave. He scowled at the guitarist before leaving with one last comment, proving he wasn’t pleased with Paul.

‘’Don’t come to me and cry when your heart stops working then.’’ 

+++

Someone else who was also very concerned about Richard’s health was Frau Schneider. She was currently stood in the long corridor, just outside his cell, in her hand an x-ray of one certain femur. It was indeed  _ very _ broken, but now patched together with what seemed half the contents of a tool box. With a sigh, she lowered the arm holding up the picture toward the light, shaking her head. She knew very well that the man who’d patched her subject up was the only surgeon the organization could afford abut who also was so morally in the grey zone not to question anything. Which was sad, because the man really was terrible at his job. 613’s bone might be stabilized, but it was far from aligned properly. It would heal badly, and they all knew it. Well, all except the subject who was most affected by it. 

One of the guards of the organization then caught up with Frau, unlocking the door for her, and accompanying her inside the tiny room. She stepped inside, expecting 613 to still be out cold from the anaesthesia, but finding the man looking up at her where he was laying on his shabby mattress. She wanted to huff, but kept silent. The surgeon couldn’t even put someone out properly. 

Richard was currently curled up under the thin blanket he had, except for his left leg. He couldn’t bear have anything more touching it, the cast along with the ginormous metal work literally  _ sticking out of his leg  _ was more than enough. It was pretty clear he was in a great amount of pain. 

Frau looked down at her subject, her face neutral. She wasn’t about to punish him for anything, he had after all won the match, but she was definitely not pleased with this outcome. 613 would be out of the ring for a  _ very  _ long time due to this. 

With an elegant hand, she then motioned for the guard to leave, before she lowered herself down to the height of her subject. Richard couldn’t help but to swallow dryly, fear apparent on his face. He was utterly terrified of the woman – nothing good was ever brought by her visits. Mostly punishments. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t be another punishment, since he did win... But one never knew with Frau. 

‘’How are you feeling? Are you in pain?’’ she knew that they might be stupid questions, but they needed to be asked. If he  _ wasn’t  _ in pain, that might point to some severe nerve damage, and if that was indeed the case, she would make sure to  _ murder the fucking surgeon.  _ He’d been horrible this far and she did not trust him in the slightest. 

Richard on the other hand, didn’t trust Frau, and was currently contemplating what to answer. He’d done the mistake  _ once  _ of telling her what he really felt, and would never do that again. The whipping he’d received after was definitely not worth it. 

Frau seemed to pick up on this though, perceptive as always. ‘’Answer truthfully. I need to know if your nerves are damaged.’’ 

Richard swallowed dryly once more and nodded carefully after gathering what little confidence he still had in his body. ‘’It hurts. Really bad...’’ he rasped out, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was cold sweating like crazy, the cold and the pain making him shiver too – which included his broken leg, which in turn made it even more painful. Now, if anything, he longed for a high, no matter what it was. Coke, Oxy, Heroin... He’d take whatever he could, anything to make the leg stop hurting at least a little. He doubted Frau would give him anything though. She seemed to save the heavy stuff for the matches – where they would be a gain for her personally. He hadn’t gotten any painkillers for the bite, or any other of his breaks for that matter, but this was a new level entirely of pain. 

Frau merely hummed at his answer, observing her subjects' leg. She could tell he really was in excruciating pain. She’d just needed to make sure. Frau then contemplated giving something to ease it, but since he’d just come out of anaesthesia without being supposed to, she decided to wait. She’d accessed his medical journal a few months back, thanks to a corrupt doctor and a hefty sum of cash, and she was aware of his earlier problems with his heart. It seemed like a too big risk to dose him up like that when she wasn’t able to control it. It would have to come later. 

A small voice pulled her out of her thoughts though.  _ Please.  _ Her subject looked at her with pleading eyes, wishing for something to take the edge off. That look seemed to soften her a tiny bit, and even though she scolded herself internally for that moment of giving in, she couldn’t help it. Frau made sure to give him something for the pain – sincerely hoping that he’d be fine in the end. 


	11. Save Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19th of March

Richard had slept deeply during the entire night, the pain killer knocking him out completely. He slept like he had after a hefty heroin binge back in the day, which was kind of nasty to think about. He really didn’t want to. Then again, his mind was  _ kind of occupied with something else.  _ Something far scarier. 

He’d woken up just a moment ago from the feeling of sheer pressure sitting on his left chest and shoulder, emanating out into his arm. He knew all too well what was happening, recognizing it from last time. 

Swallowing heavily, he had to then take a few deep breaths to steady himself, the nausea was overwhelming.  But he still needed to move somehow to call for help. Staying still and waiting for someone to come on their own accord could very possibly mean severe damage to his heart, or worse. 

From his position on the mattress, he could almost reach the door, but not quite. He imagined that banging on it would alert someone. He’d have to brace himself for what consequences might come later though. Making noise was not approved in this place. 

So, gathering his strength, he flipped himself out of bed and onto his stomach instead, aiming for the door. What he hadn’t planned for, was the searing pain following. Not in his chest this time, but the broken leg. In his groggy state, affected by the drugs as well as the  _ bloody heart attack,  _ he’d somehow managed to forget about the stupid fucking broken leg. Well, now there wouldn’t be any more forgetting at least. 

Good thing though, that he could now reach the door. It was amazing that he hadn’t screamed his lungs out at the pain in the leg, but after all these months it was so ingrained in him to stay silent. Still, he had to make some noise though, so he extended a shaky arm and started banging on the door best he could. Between all the pain, nausea and extreme dizziness, it wasn’t as loud as he’d hoped, but he managed to make some noise. Someone came running. 

He heard the guard say  _ something  _ as he came barging in _ ,  _ but the white noise in his ears created by the pain refused to let Richard hear exactly what. The guard did have his cattle prod raised and ready to used, but stopped when he faintly heard the man on the ground wheeze a single ‘’ _ help’’.  _

Thankfully, the guard seemed to understand something was wrong, and immediately grabbed his radio to call for backup. It wasn’t too long before another guard, along with the doctor, hurried down the corridor. The latter had a large messenger bag over his shoulder, packed with whatever he might thought was needed during work here. He’d been doing some rounds at the facility, and Richard had been incredibly lucky that he was. Had he not, there would’ve been a long wait for the man to arrive. 

The old gangly doctor ordered for the two guards to move Richard back to his mattress, warning them not to move the leg too much. Richard had to clench his teeth, to the point where it felt like they were going to crack, to avoid screaming. Getting moved back onto the mattress was more painful than rolling off it in the first place. 

Luckily, Frau had already prepared the doc that her subject had problems with his heart, like she did with her other subjects. She had a few of them, so to say. But, with this intel, the doc would be able to help 613  faster . 

Still, he asked his patient what was the issue, but the only answer he got was Richard motioning for his left chest. Okay, so it was another problem with the heart then. Richard nodded at the diagnosis, along with confirming when asked if he had the problem before. The doc liked to think he was thorough. (Frau Schneider would have a very different opinion.) 

‘’You relax, we got this under control’’ the doctor tried to reassure the guitarist, though had he been better, he would’ve definitely snorted. Relaxing was kind of impossible when having a heart attack. It felt like a huge weight crushing his chest and arm, and relaxing through that was just... not happening. 

+++

‘’Oh, Shit,  hang on Paul, you’ve got a nose bleed.’’ 

Paul stopped playing at Till’s words, putting his hand up almost on reflex to his own nose and wiping the droplet away. As he brought his hand down again, he saw that, yes, he was indeed having a nose bleed. Again. Second time this day, and it was only noon. The coke was really wearing on his nose, but everything else was held up by it, so he couldn’t stop now. Stopping now would just mean that he was back on square one with the goddamn depression and he wasn’t going to have that. 

Putting the guitar aside, Paul then left the couch and went to the bathroom, a very concerned look from  Till burning on his back. The smaller man was almost convinced that his friend knew what was up, after all,  Till had been there too. Substance abuse to cope with depression. It hadn’t turned out pretty in  Till’s case either, yet Paul was determined to continue down this path. 

He cleaned himself up in the bathroom, then returned to  Till sitting on the very uncomfortable couch of their studio, picking the guitar up again after sitting down. Paul was just about to start playing the new part he’d written, when the singer stopped him. 

‘’Paul. Are you high?’’ 

His fingers hovered over the strings, wanting to play, but they didn’t. Paul had to think for a second what he was supposed to answer, but that in itself was answer enough. The singer sighed, shaking his head. 

‘’You don’t need me to tell you how incredibly stupid that is, so I won’t. Just... How long?’’ 

Paul swallowed dryly, his entire mouth and throat suddenly feeling dry as a desert. He didn’t know what to say either. Yes, it was stupid, they both knew that, but he needed this. He couldn’t live with the suffocating feeling anymore, and this seemed to be the only way out. 

‘’Since the funeral.’’ 

Usually none of them could bear talking about it, and  Till watched his friend mention the event without as much as a sign of emotion on his face. At that exact moment, the singer knew that shit had gone downhill, fast, for Paul. The man who’d started to tear up at even the sight of a cemetery just a few months ago, was now mentioning Richards funeral without even looking disturbed.  _ This was bad. Really bad.  _

_ ‘’ _ Paul, you know you can talk to us, right? Or maybe a psychologist...?’’ 

The guitarist couldn’t help but huff. He’d definitely never go see a bloody shrink. Never. He had this all under control, he didn’t need to talk. 

‘’I’m fine, Till. I’ve got it all under control, and I’m feeling better than before. Maybe I just needed closure.’’ 

It was clear that they’d make no more music together today, so Paul got off the couch and began packing his stuff up. He still kept it at the studio, but it was nice to keep it protected from the dust or whatever. They weren’t here too often now so the place seemed to be covered with a layer of grey  every time they did come around. 

Till couldn’t do anything else than watch Paul pack up. Deep inside he wanted to grab the man and sit him down, force them to have a proper talk about this – but he knew that it wouldn’t work. The harder he’d pressure his friend, the more he’d push him away. He wanted to keep Paul close, mostly because he was a very good friend, but also because  Till felt now he needed to keep an eye on his friend. Even if that meant he couldn’t properly help him, right now. Till would be there when Paul realized that he needed the help. He just hoped that it wouldn’t go too far before he understood. 


	12. One Hundred and One Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12th of April

_ The water kept rising, forcing Richard to stand on his broken leg, the shooting pains almost overwhelming, but still not enough to make him pass out. He needed to stay awake though, for fear of drowning. He wasn’t exactly going to float with the metal work in and around his leg, along with the cast. His only option was to stand.  _

_ But Richard knew this was a dream. A nightmare. Because it was the only option, unless someone had magically invented a time machine and sent him back to 1989. It had to be a nightmare. It was still terrifying though, no matter what.  _

_ Back in 1989, he’d been left in this room, filled up to his own chin with water, for three days. A very tactical type of torture. But the dream made it all even worse, making him feel like he’d been trapped there for months upon months. Also, the dream felt like it had to top that off with bringing his butchered leg into the dream as well. It was hurting enough when laying down, and it was definitely amplified standing on it.  _

Then, to Richard’s relief, his own eyes snapped open, revealing to him his familiar old cell. Not that it was what he wanted to see, but it was better than Stasi interrogation rooms. Marginally. Only then, after taking a small while to wake properly, does Richard realize that his mattress is completely wet.  _ What the...?  _

Turning his head, he has to process for a moment what he’s seeing. The floor of the room was covered with water, almost ten centimetres. Had it been just a couple more, it would’ve covered his mattress entirely, instead of just lapping at its sides. No wonder he’d been having nightmares of water – his whole room was flooded. Guessing from how much gap there was under his door usually, it would probably be the entire building. The door was not snug enough to keep water in or out, so... 

Richard carefully sat up – it had been a while since the heart attack, but they kept him on various medication, which mostly just made him feel sick and lightheaded. And because of those medications, he couldn’t move too hastily. He fucking hated it. 

Now, when Richard sat up, finally awake and trying to figure out what all this was, he heard faint voices in the corridors. They seemed to be pretty far away, but from the few words the guitarist could catch here and there, he got the picture that the whole place was flooded indeed. Because not even once could he get a break at this place. Either he was in pain, fighting, or something like this happened. Sometimes all at once, and it was getting old. He’d wanted out of this place since he entered, but it all was amplified now. 

But then, Richard couldn’t help but to breathe a sigh of relief as he heard the sound of generators further away, presumably now hooked up to pumps. At least the people here were fixing the problem. Still, he didn’t know what caused it. He didn’t even know what month it was, and it was difficult to decide if it had rained of if some snow had come. Either way this place was obviously not equipped for it. 

Surprising the guitarist suddenly, the small hatch in the door to his cell opened with a metallic clang, one of the guards looking inside.

‘’Just checking you didn’t drown. Snow outside is melting.’’ 

Oh...  So it was snow then. Then at least it was winter. Richard would guess for February, but he had no clue. He hadn’t dared ask the date since last time, even though it was tempting now again... 

‘’What date is it?’’ 

‘’12th of April.’’ 

The guard answered shortly and then closed the hatch with another sound of the metal. Richard still kept staring at it though.  _ April...? Had it really been seven months in this hellhole? ...Shit.  _

+++

Till swirled the drink in his glass, looking down into it. He’d cut back considerably on the alcohol since it went overboard in September, but he had a drink every now and then. Especially with friends. 

He was currently sitting with Flake by the man's kitchen table, the keyboardist holding a drink as well, and his forehead in deep creases. Their subject? Paul. Or more precisely, the man’s new coke habit. They both knew that he was slowly heading towards ruin, and it would be an understatement to say that they were worried. 

Till had brought up his worries to Flake, explaining what happened at the studio and a few times after that. Paul was clearly self-destructing, much like their other guitarist had been prone to, and it was tearing  Till’s heart in two to just stand by and watch. Still, there was nothing he could possibly do about it. If he told Paul what he thought and tried to help, he would inevitably get pushed away. Unable to keep it all to himself anymore,  Till had then confided in Flake – the best listener. 

And Flake did indeed listen, he too recognizing the behaviour from Richard. A thought formed slowly as  Till kept explaining his worries and fears. Somehow it felt like Paul was trying to keep his friend close by  _ becoming _ him. And not the good parts of Richard either. The dark, destructive parts, that now seemed like they’d jumped directly from one guitarist to another. It was worrying to say the least. 

‘’What are we supposed to do Flake? I can’t watch him go on like this, and yet I fear what he would do if I talked to him and he pushed me away. There seems to be no other way than this one going steeply downwards. I can’t lose Paul too. None of us can. It’s been more than enough with Richard...’’ 

Till looked at Flake, almost pleading. The keyboardist seemed to always have the answer to most things, or at least what angle to tackle them from. But now, not even Flake had any answers. He really couldn’t see a way of action that they could take without ruining more things than already had been ruined. Maybe they’d just have to take the shitty option, because it would be better than doing nothing. 

‘’I... I think we should talk to him, and hope that the consequences  don’t turn out to be too bad.’’ 

Till nodded silently, finding himself agreeing with Flake. If they did talk to him, at least they’d tried to do something – and that would be a million times better than to have  just stood by and watched. 

It was with shaky hands that Till picked up the phone, feeling somewhat nervous but now determined, and dialled Pauls number, listening to the signals ring in his ear. 


	13. Three fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back after taking a little Christmas Break! Hope you all had a nice holiday <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dates here are a tad tricky! The first segment takes place 12th of April, the middle segment with Schneider takes place 13th of April, but then the last little bit with Paul goes back to 12th of April. Happy reading!

‘’I don’t even know why Frau insists on keeping this one.’’ 

‘’I take it you haven’t seen him in the ring. He’s one of those you’d never want to meet out in real life. Twisted an opponent’s neck 180 degrees once. It was brutal, I tell you.’’ 

‘’He  _ killed  _ someone? Dude... I thought we didn’t keep anyone who did that.’’ 

‘’We usually don’t, but Frau opened her wallet. Boss fell for it.’’ 

Richard stopped listening then, the two guards' voices becoming nothing more than white noise. He was hanging between them, being dragged by his upper arms down the corridors. He was drugged to hell and back, but instead of knocking him out, it just made his entire body limp, which maybe was the most important to them either way, listening to the men pulling him along. He’d never been spoken about like that, and it hurt. He didn’t like to see himself as a murderer. The thoughts spinning at the back of his head was screaming, loudly, that a murderer was all he was now. He had killed a man, after all. But he did his best to keep those thoughts at the very back of his head, choosing to think that he had no choice. In the end, it all just turned into a cacophony of whirling thoughts, all screaming at him at the same time, trying to get his attention. He couldn’t even push them away anymore. 

That, until something else filled his mind along with his entire body. Searing pain. The trio had reached the stairs leading out of this place, and upon being dragged up it, Richards injured leg was now hitting every single step. He desperately wanted to either move it or simply scream outright in pain, but he was too dosed up to even wince. 

The stairs suddenly felt twice as long as they had when he’d come here, but finally they were done and the trio had reached the first floor. The stairs led up to a huge, rundown warehouse, now containing several parked trucks. All of them were closed, except one – the one closest to the stairs. As Richard was dragged over to it, he caught a glimpse of the inside. More people like him, handcuffed and drugged, sitting leaned towards the walls of the cargo space. All of them wearing collars like himself. They were fighters too. 

It was cramped, but the guards managed to get their last fighter in before closing the doors, leaving them in darkness. If he’d managed to count somewhat properly before the darkness took over, they were about ten people in here... There’d been four or five trucks. Were there really fifty people like him in this place? It made him shiver. So many lives ruined. 

Ever since the flooding earlier that night, the guards had been continuously pumping water, and even though the levels of it did sink, it never fully disappeared. So, now, the organization had started to move their people. Apparently, the flooding happened every spring, but this year had been even worse. Therefore, they’d started to build a new place several years back, where this wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t quite done just yet, but due to the severity of the flood, they started to move early. All of this, Richard had been able to overhear due to his captors thinking he was blacked out. They spoke freely around him then, and it was causing him to piece the picture together more easily than before. 

The ride in the truck was long, bumpy and most of all, painful. Even the smallest bump to his leg sent shooting pains up into his pelvis and back. It was nice not being trapped in the small cell without anything to do, but he’d rather be laying still, pain-free, than doing this. 

+++

Schneider opened the door as the bell rang, anxiety sitting like a thick cloud in his chest. On the other side stood the sister of his father – a wealthy and very accomplished woman. They rarely called her by her first name, more often she went by Frau.

Christoph opened the door fully and motioned for her to step inside, but instead she motioned for him to follow her straight away. It was something only he knew, and kept hidden from his friends. Schneider had hired a private investigator, with the help of Frau. She had the contacts and funds for it, and she’d promised to help him without hesitation. Anything for family, she said. 

And now, apparently, this investigator had found something. Schneider was anxious to say the least. Mostly because he didn’t know exactly  _ what  _ the investigator had found.  But, they probably hadn’t found  _ him _ . Schneider was still pretty certain that Richard was gone for good. Still, he wanted to know what had happened. At least that’s how he reasoned about it all – but deep down they all still wished for their friend back – alive and well. 

Christoph and Frau went out to her car, the woman getting in behind the steering wheel, and as soon as Christoph had entered the car, she begun driving. She could easily sense that he was nervous, and she’d reassure him soon – she just wanted to get out of the terrible traffic of inner Berlin before she divided her focus. 

What Schneider  _ didn’t know  _ was that he was being very much tricked. The private investigator did not exist. Frau was planning this all and pulling the strings, and Christoph was merely following her lead, blissfully unknowing of what happened behind the scenes. 

After a silent ten minutes, Frau had managed to  maneuver the car safely out of the worst traffic, now heading towards the outskirts of Berlin. She glanced over to the man in her passenger seat, the anxious feeling surrounding him strong enough to feel from where she sat. 

‘’Don’t forget to breathe, Christoph.’’ He snapped out of his thoughts and looked over to her, taking a few moments before he registered exactly what she’d said. He was nervous out of his goddamn mind. ‘’I do understand you’re nervous, though. It will be fine.’’ 

Schneider couldn’t help but to huff quietly at the last sentence. Would it ever be fine?  Sure didn’t feel like it. ‘’I think fine is a bit much. Sorry.’’ He shifted his eyes from the woman to his other side, watching the scenery flash by outside his window. 

‘’Well then.’’ She accepted his grief without question – she could understand it had hit them all hard. Still, she felt no remorse at what she’d done. Even though Richard had costed her a lot of money due to the injuries and the like, he’d also done her a lot of good. A lot of money were involved in the organization, courtesy of the betting of their matches, but a large portion of that went to Frau herself, since she was very much involved in it all. 

‘’ But, if we should talk a little about what my contact has found. It was empty when they got there, but the investigator did manage to find a large warehouse where it’s not impossible that your friend has been.’' 

This caught Schneiders attention once more. ‘’Is that where we are headed?’’ He asked, some tiny spark of hope blossoming in his chest, even though he’d swore to himself that he’d never hope for this again. His friend was buried, end of story, no matter what his heart insisted on feeling. 

Frau simply nodded, her eyes focused on the road now, instead of her nephew. They’d emptied out the place the day before, and cleaned out anything tying the organization to the place. Granted, there were still a lot of stuff left – but that’s all it was, stuff. But then again, Frau was pulling the reins, so there could be a surprise waiting for her poor nephew. 

‘’But... You said it was empty, right?’’ Frau nodded once more at Schneiders question. ‘’Then... Then why are we going?’’ 

It was a fair question she thought, but she’d thought this up beforehand. She’d prepared for most scenarios. She was nothing but thorough. 

‘’Well, dear. I merely wanted you to see that the investigator is working as hard as they can. And perhaps you’d see something that they would miss. It is your friend after all.’’ 

Now it was Schneider’s time to nod, that did seem somewhat legit. It still worried him somehow though, and the anxiety wasn’t easing up anything at all. But soon enough, he got something new to think about, when Frau turned off the road and parked on the back side of a large warehouse.

They were on the very outskirts of Berlin, and the area looked incredibly rundown. It might have been nice once, but now it looked almost beyond help. The two stepped out of the car, and Schneider looked at the warehouse in front of them. It was as rundown as the rest of the  neighbourhood . 

Frau seemed to know where they were going though, because she quickly took the lead and headed for a door beside a closed-up loading bay door. Schneider followed, looking at the building in front of them. Now that he thought about it, the large doors intended for trucks didn’t look so run down as the rest of the place, and somehow those stupid doors made his anxiety worse. They did look out of place. Maybe something  _ was _ up with this place. 

When Schneider did get inside, Frau was already half across the loading bay. He sagged behind a bit though, looking around the place. The almost brand-new doors were still in the back of his mind, but as he looked around inside, there was nothing to suggest anything strange about the place. The place was empty, just a huge warehouse. 

Having taken a good look at the place, Schneider then jogged after Frau, who was waiting by a staircase in the corner. When she saw that he was coming, she started to walk down the stairs, her nephew soon catching up to her and the two  descending the stairs together. 

Schneider did have a fleeting thought that he’d never before heard about a warehouse with a basement. But the basement that was awaiting him was nothing he’d ever want to once in his life. 

Rows upon rows of actual  _ cells  _ had him shook. He found himself unable to say anything, and just walked up and down these corridors with utter shock on his face.  _ What was this place?  _

Frau walked silently behind him, letting him take it all in. She knew the place like the back of her hand, but pretended that she was seeing all this for the first time too. She watched with fake horror, the place she’d helped to build. To her hidden content though, Christoph was heading in the direction she’d wanted him to. 

Schneider was still too busy taking it all in as he walked, he didn’t even look back at Frau. He assumed that she felt the same about it all, but he couldn’t bother to turn around and check in on her. He was too caught up in this horror. 

_ 610, 611, 612, 613- _

Schneider came to a halt outside of cell 613, the scent of blood incredibly strong from there. One look at the mattress showed why. It was stained badly, and looked like someone had been murdered on top of it. His feet took him inside, even though he  _ really didn’t  _ want to take a closer look of what was inside. 

But what eventually caught his eye was far more harrowing than all that blood. A small piece of metal was laying on the concrete floor, glinting slightly in the dim lights. Schneider walked up to it, and couldn’t help but to pick it up, a cold feeling in his heart. 

_ Till handed Christoph the lighter, and the drummer took in his hand with a smile. ‘’This is perfect, Till. He’s going to be so happy.’’ The singer had ordered a special engraved lighter for Richard’s birthday, and it had finally arrived, just three months too late – much to  _ _ Till’s _ _ dismay. He’d had to tell the guitarist that his gift was on the way, delayed by who knows what. But it  _ _ finally _ _ was here! The two were going to go out tonight to celebrate the man an extra time, now that  _ _ Till _ _ felt he could do it properly.  _

_ Christoph turned the lighter over a few times, taking in the special engraving of the guitarists own autograph on it. It would suit him perfectly. ‘’Really, Till. You couldn’t have given him something better.’’  _

‘’Christoph?’’ 

Frau calling his name snapped the drummer out of his memories, and with the lighter still in his hand, turned around to face his aunt. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ her tone was concerned, and it was clear just by looking at Schneider that he was far from it. ‘’You were right. He was here.’’ The drummer spoke silently, holding up the lighter for her to see. ‘’He got this as a gift the night he was taken.’’ 

+++

_ It was with shaky hands that  _ _ Till _ _ picked up the phone, feeling somewhat nervous but now determined, and dialled Pauls number, listening to the signals ring in his ear.  _

But the signals were the only thing coming from the phone. Till and Flake looked at each other with worry, the singer dialling the guitarists number once more, but without luck. A very odd feeling came over them both, and without a word, the two of them got up and headed for the car. Something was wrong, and they both could feel it. 

It was  Till’s car, but Flake insisted on driving, seeing clearly that  Till was not in the right headspace for that right now. He’d rather the two of them got to Paul’s without any accidents. Their group was damaged enough as it was. 

The ride to Paul’s was silent, and incredibly tense. Neither of them wanted to break the silence, both in deep thought with worry written all over their faces. Knowing how Paul had declined the last few months, it was a very justified worry. 

Flake parked outside of the guitarists house before long,  Till having already left the car almost before it stopped completely. Flake followed after making sure the car was properly parked and locked. 

Pauls car stood outside his house, so Flake guessed that he would be at home. Which made him even more worried. If the man was home, he really should’ve answered his phone. Denied the call at least. But they’d gotten nothing. 

By the time Flake reached the front door and Till, the singer had already pulled out the key and was unlocking the front door. They both stepped inside, and without even bothering to take their shoes off, went inside to look for their friend. 

Flake found him first. The man was laying in his couch, a vibrant red streak under his nose. The keyboardist hurried up to him, and tried shaking him lightly, hoping for a response. And growing incredibly worried when he didn’t get one. Not even shaking the man a bit harder could elicit something. 

With a shaky hand, Flake checked his friend's pulse. It was incredibly weak and uneven – but it was there. 

‘’Till! We need to get to the ER!  **_ NOW! _ ** ’’ 


	14. New problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter takes place 13th of April, and Schneider's little part from the last chapter ties in here too!

_ ‘’ _ _ Please _ _ ,  _ _ don’t _ _ make  _ _ me _ __ _ bury _ __ _ you _ __ _ too _ _...’’  _

The room was silent, save for the steady hum and beeping of the machines. It was late, and only Oliver had remained in the hospital room to watch over Paul. He’d sent the others home, sensing they needed to calm down. From what Oli had gathered, they had a solid reason to be stressed out, finding Paul in the state he’d been, but it would do them no good to stay here while they were. So, Oliver sent them home, and now, it was only him here. 

The bassist was sitting beside Paul’s hospital bed, his long frame leaned against the mattress as he looked at his friend. A heavy lump of anxiety and sadness sat in his chest, seeing Paul like that. It was  heart-breaking . 

After Paul's overdose, his body had started shutting down, step by step. Hadn’t  Till and Flake arrived when they did, he’d be dead. The thought of that scared them all. They’d come so close to losing another friend in such a short time.  But, Paul was still not out of the woods just yet. The doctors had been able to stabilize him, but it was still uncertain how much damage had been done to his body. And they would have further trouble checking anything. Paul’s body had, in an attempt to shield itself and give it time to heal – let the man slip into a coma. 

Even though everyone’s worries were directed to Paul right now, including Olivers, the bassist couldn’t help but to think about what would happen to the rest of the band now. There was a huge risk that  Till would fall down into the same hole now as he did when Richard first disappeared – drinking himself to sleep, relentlessly. And this time Paul wouldn’t be there to pull him out. Oliver made a mental note that he’d have to check in on Till and make sure to take care of him if need be. 

But Oliver was more worried about Flake. The man had buried his sorrow over Richard by taking care of all the others, but now Oli wasn’t too sure that would work, and feared that the keyboardist would suffer both  _ that _ sorrow and the panic over Paul at the same time. Sure, Flake was strong – but everyone has limits. Oli just hoped that his friend hadn’t passed his. 

The bassist's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse entering the room, and Oliver sat up and moved to the couch instead of sitting right by the bed, to give some room for the nurse taking Paul’s vitals. She smiled softly at Oliver, but didn’t say anything as she worked. 

‘’Look, I know I’m not real family...’’ Oli started when he saw that the nurse was finishing up. She looked up at him, the soft smile returning. She had a wonderful aura that the tall man really liked. ‘’So, you can’t really tell me what’s going on here but... Is there  _ something  _ you can tell me? We’re all living in uncertainty here, and it’s tearing at us.’’ 

The nurse nodded a little, finishing with Paul and then walking over to sit with Oliver, sensing the man needed some comforting. ‘’Look... Can I call you Oliver?’’ she looked at him. Oli nodded, unsure how she knew his name, but it felt better than to be called Mr. Riedel at least. ‘’I know that the six of you are more of a family than most ‘’real’’ families are.’’ she added the finger gestures when talking about families, then realizing that the bassist beside her was a little confused. She flashed the inside of her wrist to him, revealing the R+ logo tattooed. Then it all made sense to Oli, and it actually felt nice to have someone understanding their situation. 

‘’So, I know that I'm kind of breaking the law by sharing things like this, but I trust that you will keep the secrets among the rest of you. Okay?’’ 

Oliver nodded, thanking the nurse and promising to keep silent. It wasn’t like he was out to get her – he just wanted answers. 

‘’Okay so... Actually, the doctors don’t know much. Paul had multiple organ failure when he arrived, but that’s all been stabilized. There might be some damage, but hopefully that’s what the body is focusing on healing now. From what they could tell his brain seemed okay, but that’s hard to tell when the person isn’t conscious so... Other than that, I don’t know. Comas are very tricky, it’s pretty much impossible to say how long they will last, and it’s as difficult to tell if there has happened anything during the coma. All we can do is wait.’’ 

The nurse looked at Oli, who had been listening carefully. ‘’Thank you. It truly means a lot that you tell me this.’’ He returned the nurses soft smile, feeling very grateful that Paul had been assigned such a good caretaker. ‘’I’m just happy to help, Oliver. Your music helped me a lot, so it was my time to help you back. If you ever need anything, just ask for me, alright?’’ Oliver smiled and nodded, thanking her again. What a lovely nurse. He’d definitely not forget her in the first place. 

She gave Oli a pat on his upper arm, then got up from the couch and excused herself, explaining she had to finish her rounds. Oliver took his phone up instead, texting the guys. 

_ Got more intel on Paul. Fill you in next time you visit. _

+++

Till’s phone buzzed where it lay on the coffee table, but he ignored it. He was already a bit drunk, even though the night was young still. The anxiety had been too much for the singer, and he did what he knew would work. For a while at least. Getting incredibly fucking drunk. 

But then, there was a knock on his door. Till furrowed his brow, looking over at it from the couch. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so he didn’t know what was going on. On wobbly legs he got up and opened the outer door, finding none other than Schneider. If Till looked bad, Schneider looked horrible. 

The man had clearly been crying, the look of devastation on his face not being helped by the puffy eyes. ‘’Hey Till. We need to talk.’’ 

The singer was very confused, his drunkenness not helping any, but he let the drummer inside. It wasn’t often Schneider cried, and that alone made  Till incredibly anxious again. Could he never catch a break? 

The two of them ended up on the couch, Schneider eyeing the sheer amount to liquor bottles on the coffee table. Till expected his friend to tell him it wasn’t healthy, but that’s not what happened. Instead, Doom asked if he could grab some himself – and by the look on his face, Till would say he needed it. 

‘’So, what do we need to talk about?’’ Till asked, tired but curious, after Schneider had taken a few sips out of the vodka bottle. 

Schneider sighed heavily, rubbing his face a few times before speaking. ‘’I uh... I hired a private investigator.’’ he started, feeling unsure. He’d heard about Paul earlier, and this might be a bit too much to stack on top of that, but he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, or he’d go insane. ‘’And they found something.’’ 

Schneider fished the lighter out of his jacket pocket, holding it out to Till. ‘’Thought you might  want it back...’’ 

While Doom went back to the vodka,  Till gently took the lighter and looked at it with horror. His entire world froze up and seemed to fall apart, the anxiety in his chest threatening to rip his ribcage open.  _ The lighter. The goddamn lighter.  _

A heavy sob left  Till’s body – and before he could even register it, tears were flowing freely. Doom saw what happened, and gently embraced him, stroking his back and trying to comfort him, but to no avail. What a fucking mess this was... All they’d wanted was their group back, and some peace and quiet. 

_ Was that just too much to ask? _


	15. Lyrics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last I crawled out of the hell called writers block woo! Here's the next chapter ^^ 
> 
> Felt i needed to clarify that in this 'world' that Weiß takes place in, it is present time, but Emigrate is not yet formed. Along with that, there are one or two Rammstein videos that are also not done and has never happened, but further explanation will come when it is time. 
> 
> Also worth noting is that this takes place 14th of April.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Sleep never came easy to Richard anymore. Anyone who’d known him before all this would say that he did have problems with his sleep, but for every passing day, it was growing worse. Back then, before all this, he’d been the one who was constantly up at night – watching movies, making music, whatever. He had trouble with what happened when he slept, so he avoided it. It was a terrible way to handle it, but that’s what he did. This went in periods. For a few months he stayed awake as much as possible, until his body started telling him that it was not okay. Then followed a month or so with a strict sleeping schedule, sometimes even accompanied by sleeping pills, but still the night terrors managed to find Richard. And the cycle began anew. 

But now, his sleeping was impacted in a completely different way. Ever since he broke his leg, the pain had forced him to lay completely still. The little energy he had in his body was starting to get pent up, and he was growing restless. It was inevitable. He seemed to merely exist these days, not really awake, never sleeping. 

And then, he’d gotten to his new cell. 

It looked almost exactly like his former one, maybe a little cleaner. The new mattress didn’t have a huge fucking blood stain, at least. 

But the problem was not the cell in itself. It was the damn location of it. On the other side of the wall was what the guards at this place called the ‘’correction room.’’ It was used for one thing, and one thing only. Getting their fighters to obey. Richard had spent the last two days listening to cries of pain, mixed will dull thuds. It brought back memories of the guy who’d been killed in front of him, and along with that also came 1989. And there came an extra layer to his already horrible sleeping problem. 

And since he wasn’t really present  _ in the present,  _ Richard instead spent all that time in his brain. Turns out he’d played so much guitar in his life that he could visualize new melodies on a guitar in his head. It was... weird to say the least. But his brain didn’t care. It was creating song after song, and he almost dared dreaming of himself in a studio, recording his own stuff. He longed so much after music that he felt like he needed even more than only Rammstein. He wanted another band too. If he survived this shithole and ever got out, he promised himself that he’d record those songs. 

  
_This is what it sounds like_   
_Cries unsynchronized_   
_This is what it sounds like_   
_To keep us terrified_

Richard furrowed his brow slightly as he looked out into nothingness. He’d had plenty of riffs in his head, but no lyrics. But now that he was back in the present, he realized where they’d come from. They were beating some poor bastard up next door, again. But it fit. However horrible it might have been. 

The torture on the other side of the wall soon stopped, but the thoughts stayed in Richard’s head. Scenes of torture, accompanied by the music and lyrics he’d just created. It was almost beautiful - in a very macabre way. 

But Richard was soon pulled out of his thoughts. The door to his cell was opened, and in stepped one guard, the doctor and Frau. 

It took him a moment for his eyes to properly focus on his three visitors, since he’d been so deep in thought, along with this constant limbo between sleep and wokeness, made him very disoriented. He was deep down terrified of asking Frau for any help, but he also knew that he had to. He couldn’t keep living like this any longer. He’d go insane. Maybe he already was a little insane. Who  knows?

Since Richard was still on his heart medicine, he was unable to sit up without feeling like fainting. So, when the three entered, all he could do was stay laying down. The doctor seemed bothered as usual, and a bit grumpy. 

‘’It’s time we remove the metalwork in your leg, and give you a new cast, 613.’’

The doc informed Richard, sounding as grumpy as he looked. Whatever was the man’s problem, they’d never truly know. 

But then, he set to work. Richard realized afterwards that he had practically no memory of the removal. Due to the untreated pain and the heart medication, he kept passing out over and over, not that the doc took notice. Or he did, but simply didn’t care. Only small fragments of the treatment  were remembered, especially the visual of the short man pulling out the metal pins from his leg and bone. It would be difficult to forget that one. 

In the end, when Richard really did come back to consciousness for real, he was met with a pair of light blue eyes and a gentle hand stroking his short hair. A brief moment he felt like he recognized those eyes in someone else, but then he properly took in Frau’s face and realized that they were hers. He was probably just dizzy, thinking they looked like someone  else's . 

‘’There you are. How are you feeling?’’ 

Frau spoke quietly, but loud enough so that the two of them could hear. She had her usual, professional tone when she spoke, but if one listened carefully, there was a small hint of caring emotion behind it all. Why else would she sit with him until he woke, if she didn’t care? And yet, she tried to convince herself that she was only looking after her own interests. She’d never cared for a subject before, and never would in the future. At least that’s what she told her head. Her heart sung a different song. 

It took a few moments for Richard to register her words, but when he did, he swallowed heavily. What was he supposed to answer? Because in reality he felt like shit, but he wasn’t sure that he dared say that now, no matter how much he’d convinced himself that he needed to tell her. 

But nothing escaped Frau, and she quickly caught on to the conflict inside of him. 

‘’Tell me, truthfully. I need to know.’’ 

After taking a deep breath in an attempt to gather some courage, Richard spoke up. 

‘’T-terrible. The heart m-medication makes me sick...’’ 

It was quietly spoken, but at least he got the message clear. 

‘’A-and I can’t sleep... For weeks...’’ 

Frau watched with a furrowed brow as he spoke, admitting to herself that he hadn’t been himself lately, yes. This was definitely the reason. A small part of her felt sorry for him, but she pushed it down quickly and hid it. She would not be caught showing emotions. She was stronger than that. 

‘’I’ll bring it up with the doctor. If there is a possibility to fix your problems, he will see to it.’’ 

And with that, Frau stood up, withdrawing her care for the subject laying on a mattress by her feet. Her heart was telling her to stay and care for him longer, but as she was currently fighting that small part of herself, she refused to do anything it told her to. She would not be soft. Never. 

Instead, she left the cell and a Richard who was currently feeling a tiny speck of hope as he watched her leave. Maybe, just maybe, would she see to it that he’d finally get to sleep. It calmed the constant anxiety he lived with, just a little. 

As he watched Frau leave, another set of lyrics came to his mind. And they fit perfectly. 

_The queen never walks_   
_Now watch her walking_   
_Last soldier lost_   
_Count the fallen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wishing to know:  
> The first song mentioned is 'War' and the second is 'Born on my Own', both by Emigrate. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21st of April for todays chapter ^^ 
> 
> ...Aaaand I'm back! I've struggled a fair amount with this, if I'm honest. Had to take a period of no writing nor reading any fics to bring back the spark. Now it's finally coming back, albeit slowly, and along with that my life has started to calm just a little. But I swear this fic will get finished, sooner or later. 
> 
> But until then, happy reading! <3

Oliver quickly found himself in the position of the group's caretaker and glue. Their band had truly turned to chaos after Paul’s accident and whatever Schneider had found. Oli really hadn’t been able to figure out what the latter was upset about just yet, other than Paul being comatose. There was definitely something else bugging the man and however hard Oliver tried, he had zero luck in pulling out some kind of explanation from the man. And sadly, that was eating away at him. 

Still, Flake somehow managed to cope with all this even worse. 

Oliver was headed to Flake’s now, having left Schneider a few minutes ago. All of Oli’s daily schedule these days was driving between his friend’s houses and making sure they kept together somewhat. It was chaotic to say the least. Had been for the past... Oliver had to check the small display in his car, realizing that he didn’t know how many days had passed. It was 21st of April already? Damn... Paul had been in his coma for nine days. It was terrifying how time could pass so quickly. 

The car in front of Oliver’s then stopped without him realizing, and he was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when he almost rear-ended it, only managing to stop his own car at the last second. 

This had been going on for too long now – Oli was exhausted from caring for three of his friends, along with watching over the fourth. His mind was telling him it was time to think a little about himself too. Otherwise, he’d drop down exhausted and burnt out, and that was the last thing either of them needed. Oliver decided that he’d check in on Flake one last time, and then he’d go home to his own bed for once and order some pizza. Just refill his own batteries. 

Luckily, Oliver managed to drive the rest of the way to Flake’s without any bigger mishaps than the almost-rear-end. He was sincerely hoping that he’d be able to relax tonight, now when he needed it. It was fully possible that his mind would be all to riled up to even do that. Still, a small part of his brain was already picking out which pizza he was going to get tonight, so chances weren’t zero. 

Oli safely parked his car outside of Flake’s house, and then used the spare key to enter. The place looked untouched, like all other days since the accident. It didn’t take much to figure out that Flake resided mostly in his bed, just moving to use the bathroom. Hadn’t Oli been here twice a day, the man wouldn’t have eaten anything. 

Just as Oliver had predicted, but desperately tried preventing, Flake had suffered from both sorrows this time around, the events of their guitarists catching up to him just now, over a year later. It was downright  heart breaking to see. 

After Oli had managed to cook a meal for his friend, he then sat with Flake while the man ate. He still didn’t say much, and Oli didn’t feel like pushing him. If Flake wanted to be silent, there was nothing that could make him talk. Still, Oliver hoped that his company helped a little, even if neither talked. 

Flake finished the meal in silence, then after passing the plate back to Oli, crawled back under the covers. It was clear Flake wished today’s visit to be over now, and the bassist knew how important alone time was to his friend, even though it was a bit much these days.  Of course, it worried him, but he sensed that there was not much to do. Trying to force the keyboardist to do things would probably not do either of them good. All they could wish for was Paul’s speedy recovery. Maybe then would Flake forgive himself for something he shouldn’t even blame himself for in the first place. 

Oliver was soon sat in his car, looking forward to some alone time. Before driving away, he was checking what pizzeria to choose, tapping away at his phone when an incoming message made him raise his eyebrows. It was not from any of his contacts, and the message was short. 

_ ‘’Just thought I’d let you know, he’s awake. -M’’  _

It took Oliver’s tired brain a minute to figure it out, but when he realized who it was from, and what it  _ really  _ meant, he was jolted wide awake. Alone time was forgotten instantly, and Oli steered his vehicle towards the hospital. 

When finally arriving, Oli was thankful for his long legs – he wasn’t allowed to run in the hospital corridors, but he was able to move pretty fast either way, thanks to those legs. Paul would’ve slapped him had they walked together. Oli smiled at the thought, a spark of hope in his chest that he’d be able to annoy the shorter man like that again. He was awake! 

The bassist walked so fast that he was panting slightly when he finally got to the right place. He walked down the corridor towards Pauls room, waving quickly to the kind nurse that had texted him while he passed by the desk they had. She gave him a warm smile – she too was happy that Paul was doing better. 

Oliver didn’t stop though, he just kept walking down the corridor at his incredibly high pace – until he reached the room and stopped in the doorway. 

Paul was sitting curled up in the bed, under a million blankets, and was tiredly checking his phone. He still had a million different tubes and cords going everywhere, and was still looking as pale as one could be – but he was awake. 

His blue eyes snapped up to the bassist when he entered, and for a moment they just looked at one another. 

‘’Hey...’’ 

‘’Hi.’’ 


End file.
